Freudian Sleep
by Sydney Andrews
Summary: The completed version of a story I began two years ago on TLG. Trinity's struggle to come to terms with motherhood. A Rorie fic, part of the UC/TLE series.
1. Chapter 1

**Freudian Sleep**

by Sydney Andrews, 2006

**Chapter 1**

* * *

My eyes flicker open to sunlight filtering in through Venetian blinds. I catch the scent of misty lilacs, and turn over under an eider down comforter. Bare skin on clean linen, my arm reaches out blindly to by left. "Honey?"

"I'm late for work."

I glance at the clock. "Slept in."

"Baby kept me up."

My head lifts from the pillow. Aurora. "She isn't crying."

"She's fine. I just checked on her." Tom hurries from the master bath, hair still wet from the shower. His crisp white dress-shirt is undone, tie slung over his shoulders. "Fever's down. Maybe she'll eat something this morning."

"Sorry I drifted off on you last night," I say softly, rising as he walks over to the edge of the bed. My fingers work quickly to fasten his collar button and weave a Windsor knot. "I guess I was a little more tired than I thought."

"You were delusional." He reaches for his watch. "Two days without sleep will do that to you. You don't have super powers, you know."

"Well, one of us had to take care of her while you were in Cleveland."

"Wicker furniture doesn't sell itself."

"You could have done a conference call."

"You know I'm technologically crippled." His lips brush my forehead. "I'm doing this for us. If that girl of ours is going to become a surgeon one day, she'll need tuition."

He is about to pull away, but I catch him by the _Superman_ tie that he wears every Monday. I press our mouths together, tasting toothpaste and strawberry Pop Tarts. "Come home early today. Nobody needs their patio set recaned at nine p.m. The human race will survive without you for one night."

He laughs, kisses back once more, and fastens his _Rattan Village _nametag to his blazer. _Mr. Thomas Anderson, Junior Sales Agent._ "I'll fly home to you."

"Hmm. Something wrong with your bicycle?"

"Huh?"

"I need the minivan today. Aurora's pediatrician wanted to check up on her."

"Shit," Tom curses under his breath. "I'll take the train."

"I'm sorry."

"Mr. Smith is going to kick my ass," he mumbles bitterly of his manager. "Son of a bitch is always on my case. Like it's his _purpose_ to make my life miserable."

"If he gives you any trouble, tell him to call me."

He smiles as he shuffles into his Dr. Martins and snatches up his tattered briefcase. "I think he's a little afraid of you. After that time at the company barbecue, you told him that if he didn't like your cookies, he could go to hell."

I laugh. "It must have been the pregnancy mood swings. I was _Mrs. Anderson, unplugged." _

We share a knowing look just as the sound of my daughter's cries catch my attention. Tom sighs. "Tag, you're it. I pass the baby and car keys to you. When's your appointment?"

"Eleven."

"I'll call at one to see how it was."

"Love you."

He grins from the doorframe as the cries get louder. "Copy. Paste. Send. You have mail."

"Get going, soldier."

"Wake up, Trin."

"Hum?"

"Trinity… wake up…"

* * *

...I rise with a start, nearly crashing my forehead against Neo's on my way up. He doges out of the way, bracing a hand against me. "_Whoa._ You okay?"

I blink, look at him strangely. "Yes," I reply slowly. "_... Neo?" _

"Expecting someone else?"

"No. It's… nothing," I stutter absently as I realize that the wailing from my dream had a basis in reality. Rorie is up, and the sound of her crying still sets off a mild panic in me, even after nine weeks to adjust to it. "What's wrong?"

"I think she's hungry. She keeps pawing at my shirt, like she's disappointed it's _me _and not _you._ If only I could lactate, right?"

How he can be so calm about it, I'll never understand. Was that a _joke?_ Jesus Christ, where is she? I throw the covers off and rush to Rorie's bassinet, lifting her carefully, pressing her to my chest, hand on the back of her head. I hush her, silently apologize to her; I slept through her feeding, again. "What time is it?"

"It's early. Trin, you're fine."

"She's starving, Neo. I am not fine." I'm still lightheaded from jumping up so fast, and I unsteadily ease back into a chair. I hush her again, hurrying with the buttons on my top. For a moment, I think I might cry. Not a day goes by that I don't feel like I'm failing her somehow. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get this right.

Rorie seems to agree. She looks at me with big, round eyes mildly alarmed, as if afraid that I may snap at any moment. I think she learned the expression from Neo. And I can't stand them both looking at me like that at once. I ask my new husband to give me some privacy, hoping he won't take it the wrong way.

"I just need a moment," I say over our daughter's impatient exclamations. "Please. I can do this myself."

I don't look up as he leaves, and I'm not sure why I can't seem to face him. I feel embarrassed, or ashamed, or resentful. He has such a connection with Rorie, and has had since the moment she was placed in his arms. He was nervous, to be sure; I noticed his hands were shaking as he took her. But she stopped crying when he held her, which, ironically, is when he began to bawl uncontrollably. And those little hands reached up and touched the tears on his cheeks. It's really something to watch them together. Indeed, if only The One could lactate.

"But you're stuck with me," I mumble wryly, cradling her as she latches onto my breast.

I enjoy feeding her; it's the one activity she and I seem to have mastered. Naturally, it's all her initiative, as if she knows I can't be trusted to facilitate anything. _Just hold still, for goodness' sake, Mom. _Then she'll gaze up at me as she suckles, those expressive brown eyes curious, intrigued. _You aren't anything like I imagined,_ she seems to think. _What an unlikely mother. What a peculiar person to be holding a baby at all! _

"You know, I'm not this useless at everything," I claim defensively, as she swallows, sighs, and swallows again. "I don't know if anyone's told you this yet, but I cracked the IRS D-Base. It was a pretty big deal at the time. You could even call me a celebrity."

Rorie doesn't comment, and I sense that she's unimpressed. She's hungry. I sigh and try to relax. The pleasant sensation of her mouth is comforting, and her ears wiggle as she feeds, eyebrows arched upwards as if in surprise. It's impossible not to smile at her. She's a beautiful baby. With flawless, ivory skin and jet black hair to her shoulders, the longest hair any doctors had ever seen on a newborn. And it's as soft as feathers. Nothing as soft exists in the real world; I'm certain of it. She's as much of an anomaly here as her father is in the Matrix.

"I had the strangest dream just now," I whisper, talking to her in confidence, as I used to do before she was born. She knows all my secrets, including a whole pile of things I'd never tell Neo in a million years. God help me if she remembers any of them. "Your dad was a wicker furniture salesman."

She makes a clicking sound and adjusts her grip. Was that a giggle? I rub my thumb over her head. "I know, and I get the feeling he wasn't a very good one, either. And we… we had a minivan. And a house in the suburbs. And I didn't have a heart-attack every time you cried. It all felt so natural."

I haven't dreamed about a life in the Matrix for many years; these fantasies tend to fade as the mind comes to accept the truth. And I've never dreamed of another life with Neo, or… _Tom_ (I nearly choke on the idea of even calling him that). It's a little unsettling to have had one now. I prefer my usual dreams of donning my leathers and eluding agents, or monitoring targets on the Neb. Realistic fantasies, or at least… they used to be. Before the truce with the machines. I haven't been to the sewers in months. And I haven't used a gun in two years. Jesus, has it been that long? Two years.

In that time, everything has changed. I've seen the rubble of this city rebuilt, and I've seen my vision for the new fleet slowly take shape. Neo and I have been celebrated as icons of peace, the only two people to have ever been pulled from the fields _twice. _We fell out of love. And back into love, perhaps by necessity, when I got pregnant. When we were given a new purpose. After all that was taken, somehow, we began again. He proposed on bended knee only six months ago, and we started a whole new life. For Rorie, and for us. In that order. Always, from now on, in that order.

Neo peeks his head in, timidly, checking on us. "Okay?" he asks softly.

I hum back in response. "I guess so."

"She loves you, you know."

"I know."

He leans on the doorjamb, watching silently for a minute or so. "_I_ love you."

I grin. "Copy. Paste. Send. You have mail."

"Huh?" he chuckles.

"Nothing. Just… something I picked up somewhere. It's stupid. Forget it."

"No. I mean, my inbox is always open… for you."

"Alright, then."

"Just don't send anything too nasty, or it'll get filtered into my junkmail folder with the rest of the porn that… I swear, I don't open."

"Neo, go do something useful."

"You know what? I'll just instant-message you." Before I can object, he strides over to me and presses his lips to mine, first chastely, then deeper. We both seem to remember how long it's been, and we seize the brief chance to reconnect. Rorie coos, catching our attention.

"I think she likes it when we kiss," Neo muses.

"Or she's relieved to see you haven't gone far. Ready to jump in and save her when it's time to burp."

"You're too hard on yourself," he says, hands on my shoulders. "And you're exhausted. Too many hours under the hull of a hovercraft."

"They need my help. The new pads are a monumental headache to install."

"You don't have to go tonight. And neither do I." He waits for me to argue with him, and when he sees a window of opportunity, he ventures, "Niobe has offered to take her for a few hours."

"No," is the automatic response, even though I have no logical reason to support my argument. Niobe is better with Rorie than I am. Maybe that's the reason. "I don't think I could leave her."

"Trin, you leave her every time you rush off to the dock."

My cheeks flush, and Rorie breaks our connection, apparently sensing the wave of tension that tightens my body. She whines, a little upset, and I have to consciously force myself to be calm. It used to come so easily to me.

"You want me to stop working?" I ask carefully, though I am fooling no one with the low purr. Rorie looks at her father with pleading eyes. _Let me at least finish my dinner. _

"Of course not. I just thought you might like a break. I miss you."

"I don't… I don't know. Neo…" I stumble through what I hope passes as an adequate rejection, dismissal, and apology. "I just don't feel… right."

Neo is looking at the baby, and not at me. "Alright. I'm going out. Be back soon."

"Where are you-"

"Just for a walk. Half an hour."

"But-"

"You'll be fine," he says over his shoulder. "Just hold her up straight when you rub her back. And put a towel on your shoulder."

I look down at Rorie helplessly as Neo leaves. She isn't pleased at all. _Nice going, Mom. Now who is going to burp me? Please, just call Aunty Niobe. I'm begging you… _

"Absolutely not. As I was telling you earlier," I say firmly, swallowing the lump in my throat that always comes with knowing that I've hurt Neo. It is happening more and more these days. "I am _The_ IRS D-Base Trinity."

I pick her up and rest her against my chest, tossing a towel over my shoulder. From previous experience, I know this is going to be a long and painful experience for both of us. "Or, at least, that's who I used to be. A long time ago."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

_**  
**_**Chapter Two**

* * *

Married with children sex is different from _'one last fuck before we die' _sex. Niobe and I have reached a consensus on that fact. And although hearing about the erotic shortcomings of my former captain does leave me with a general sensation of nausea, it's nice to know I'm not alone.

Although, I shouldn't be complaining. Neo worships me in bed. He looks at me like I'm some sort of deity, the mother of his child. But for the past few months, that's the _only_ way he's looked at me. Reverently. Respectfully. I find myself wishing that for just one night, he could devour me like an object. Like he used to.

But how do you say that to the doting husband? _Once more, dear. And this time, fuck me like the whore that I am. _Maybe I should dig our straps and blindfolds out of the closet and leave them on the bed. Or maybe I should strip, tie myself up, and _wait_ for him in bed. The thought has crossed my mind more than once.

But don't you just know that's when Rorie will start crying. I can see the tragic headline now:

_'Baby chokes to death while sexually submissive mother struggles to untie herself' _

_Poor Rorie. _Maybe I should have let Niobe take her. Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to snap at Neo.

I have never thought in terms of so many _maybes._ For the first time in my life, I'm not sure about anything. I don't know my place. I don't know my job. I do know that I'm incompetent.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

I flutter out of my reverie to face a young cadet; she can't be older than eighteen. A pretty little thing, she's been utterly useless thus far on the project. But she tries very hard. Feeling an unlikely kinship with the girl, I find myself going easy on her. "Yes, Anika?"

"The phone for you, Trinity. It's… uhm…" she stutters, searching for the proper way to announce, "The One. Neo. Your husband, I mean."

My heart sinks. He phoned at the dock. Busted. "Thank you, I'll take it in my office."

Straightening my work clothes and passing a hand through my long, wavy hair, I march around vats of insulation, piles of newly-refined steel, and personnel of construction details, many of whom meet my eyes and nod their esteem. I'm stopped a few times for questions, and then by a tall, sharp-looking ensign who wants to introduce himself. "It's an honor," he says, holding out his hand and standing so straight I suspect he might sprain something. "If there is anything you ever need, ma'am. Consider it my privilege." I resist the temptation to reply in the affirmative, and send him for a bottle of what loosely passes for whiskey down here. Grinning to myself, I know that he'd do it, too. He'd run.

My 'office' would more accurately be called a conference room, as there is always a gathering of mechanics around my desk, whether or not I'm there to mediate. Since giving birth, I find that an open-door policy is the only arrangement that works, and I've been known to hold a video conference while cleaning my house or cooking dinner. Sometimes, with Rorie lying in my lap, sucking on my pinky.

When I walk in, however, Morpheus is the only one there. He has the software package for the _Nebuchadnezzar, Mark 4, _and he doesn't appear pleased. And I hadn't expected him to be.

"I know," is how I greet him. "I'll have a talk with Link about upgrading the sparring programs and docking protocols. What you're holding are the defaults from the Fleet D-Base. Unfortunately, none our home-made stuff was salvageable. I had our best computer engineers pick through the rubble. But no go."

"I've brought a few programs from the Logos. You can upload them when you're ready."

"Yeah. I've got a phone call I need to take. I'll only be a second."

"Should I leave?"

"No, no. Stay." I pick up the phone and cradle it between my ear and shoulder as I look through the impressive inventory of digital goodies Niobe has offered. I take a deep breath and release the hold button. "Yes?"

"Busted."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm on my way out. Is everything okay? Rorie's okay?"

"She's fine. Still sleeping."

There is a long pause and I lift my thumb and index finger to the bridge of my nose. So Neo didn't call about the baby. I pace a little.

I'd told him I was going out for food. And it hadn't been a lie. I glance at the basket of nuts and flatbread that has been sitting on my desk for two hours. "I'm on my way out," I repeat, feeling guilty and resentful at the same time. Why should I have to apologize for this? Rorie is sleeping. I'm entitled to do my job. Things have been falling apart up here without me.

"Did Morpheus find you? He called the house."

"Yeah. He's here."

There is an awkward beat, and I tell him again that I'm leaving the office. "Fine," he says. "I'll wait up."

_I'll wait up. _Is that code for something? What, am I out past curfew? "Fine."

The line goes dead and I curse under my breath as I slam the receiver down. Morpheus meets my eyes. A knowing look. His son is a year old and Niobe has all but chained him to the crib (while she sneaks out to help me build hovercraft). If they weren't so in love I'm sure they would have killed each other by now. Two egos such as theirs should never be confined to the same apartment.

"How is Aurora?" he asks of his goddaughter, pronouncing her name as if she were an empress. I can't help but smile. I'm still not used to feeling maternal pride. It's one of the new emotions that I can't mask, even if I try.

"She's…" I search for the right word, but it doesn't exist._ "My daughter."_

Morpheus nods, understanding. "Come with me," he says, like an order. "We'll ride the elevator together."

* * *

How do you know when Morpheus is about to give a speech?

_He opens his mouth. _

I recall Niobe's snide joke with a flicker of amusement on my face, stepping into the lift with my former captain. He seems pensive, and crosses his arms behind his back, shaking his head at a few other workers who apparently wanted to get on with us. He waits for the doors to close. And then, as I'd suspected, he opens his mouth.

"I think that my son and your daughter are destined to be very close," he begins. "They are both products of distinguished parents. They've inherited a great legacy. With great responsibilities. I expect that one day, it will be them leading this army. Together."

"Are you suggesting an arranged marriage?" I deadpan, not putting it past him.

"I'm suggesting we introduce them first. Niobe would like the chance to become acquainted with her goddaughter. And David particularly likes your chutney. Which is remarkable, because you know he's very choosy about what he eats."

"Like his father, the boy has remarkable survival instincts," I observe. "Was it you who taught him which ten percent of Niobe's cooking is edible?"

He laughs in deep, rolling chuckles. He loves it when I poke fun at Niobe. Though not nearly as much as Niobe loves it when I poke fun at him. But to be fair, Morpheus lends himself to much more amusing ridicule.

"Aurora and David should be raised as brother and sister," he says. "I believe that they are destined for great things, and great challenges. Challenges which they are meant to face together. As their parents did."

"We were a damn good team, weren't we?" I recall. It comes out a little sadder than I'd expected.

"And we remain a damn. good. team. Though, perhaps the mission has changed. And so we will adapt. Sharing the responsibility of raising these two young warriors would make our outside commitments easier to bear. This fleet, Trinity, will not build itself."

Ah. And so The Mad Hatter shows me his full hand, and the cards up his sleeve, too. He just wants more playtime at the dock. Or Niobe does, and she thought that the suggestion would be better received coming from Morpheus.

"A babysitting pact?" I ask, intrigued by the prospect but feeling a familiar anxiety in the pit of my stomach. Leaving Rorie with Neo is one thing. But the idea of surrendering her to anyone else, even to people I'd trust with my own life, sets off alarm bells in my mind. Or maybe it's guilt. I can't tell the two emotions apart anymore.

"Aurora will not benefit from the attentions of an exhausted mother," he says.

I sigh, and nod. Over ten years on the same ship, and he knows how to talk to me. His logic is irresistible, especially at a time when I seem to command none of my own. Maybe just for a few hours a day, I think hesitantly. "I'll talk to Neo."

"It was your husband's idea. I am only the messenger. And I was told to deliver this, along with it."

He hands me a tiny feeding spoon, Rorie's spoon, bent into the shape of an 'S.' There is a ribbon on it that reads, _You have mail._

"Aurora is with Niobe," Morpheus informs me as the elevator stops at his level. "You can get off with me now and take her home with you. Or you can remain on the elevator, and stay in Wonderland. The choice, Trinity, is yours."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**  
Chapter 3**

* * *

_Poor Rorie. _

And yet I can't help but laugh as I cover her eyes and stare in shock at the spectacle her father has made of himself. Naked in our candlelit living room. Fumbling for a pillow to cover himself. Is that _Air Supply_ playing in the background?

"Jesus Christ, Trin! Didn't Morpheus give you the spoon?"

"Yes, but…"

I trail off as he scoffs, throws his hands in the air, and rushes into the bedroom for his clothes. "I sent you a goddamned spoon! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"What? Is a bent spoon your sexual calling card?" I holler back, still chuckling a little. "From now on, that's the secret code for a booty call?"

"It's not funny."

"What?"

"_Rorie." _

"Rorie?"

"Saw it._ Me. _For God's sake, Trinity!"

I look down at our daughter. The two brown orbs remind me of a deer staring into headlights. I bite my lower lip. "Babies her age have night blindness," I reply, making it up as I go along. "She couldn't have seen in this light."

"Seriously?"

"Sure."

He gives me a skeptical look from the doorjamb as I join him with the baby. "And I'm sorry," I say. "My plan was to check on her and then come up alone but… she was a little fussy and I couldn't leave with her so upset…"

"Trin."

"Well, what do you expect, letting Morpheus take her without even asking me?"

"I told you that they had offered-"

"And I said I wasn't ready. _Doesn't that mean anything to you?"_ I repeat his choice of words from earlier, italicizing every one.

"Niobe dropped by and asked again. You weren't here. I made the decision."

"You should have called me."

"Called you where? You disappear for hours at a time."

"You knew perfectly well where I was!" I whisper back harshly, both of us doing our best not to upset Rorie. "You think I like leaving her? You think I enjoy splitting myself down the middle, tearing myself apart and still pleasing nobody?"

"Which is why I let Niobe take her, Trin. I don't want you to stop working; I just want you to accept the fact that you can't do it alone. I'm thinking of _you._"

"You _conspired_ with Morpheus to get me into bed!"

It sounds more ridiculous aloud than it had in my head. I must be tired. Neo seems to agree. Giving a strange look (which I return), he takes the baby from me _'before the damage is irreparable.' _I surrender her without argument, knowing my husband is better at putting Rorie down than I am. And why is that? I wonder. Why does everything I do feel like a mistake?

I hear Neo softly murmuring from the nursery as I look around the living room, noticing for the first time how much work he put into this. Candles everywhere, supper on the table. And he tidied up, I realize, catching the faint scent of furniture polish and rosewater. I didn't even think he knew where we kept the cleaning supplies. Perhaps Niobe showed him. In another _conspiracy,_ Trinity? I shake my head at myself and take the two meals to reheat.

"I'm sorry about not asking you first," is the first thing he says sometime later, joining me in the kitchen. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Well, _Rorie_ was certainly surprised."

"You said she couldn't see."

"And how would I know?" I ask dryly, pouring us a drink. "You must know by now that I haven't a clue."

"You seem more nervous than anything. Stressed."

"It isn't just that." I hand him a snifter of clear liquid and sip my own without proposing a toast. "I think the gods are playing some kind of joke on me, sending me a child."

"Or the joke is on me, sending me the two of you."

I narrow my eyes over the rim of the glass. "You know, up until that comment I was actually considering having sex with you tonight."

He seems thoughtful, and the seriousness in his manner catches me off-guard. He takes his plate from the microwave and picks at the food, standing at the counter. "That isn't working either, I think," he says, putting the fork down without taking a bite. "You haven't been happy. With me?"

I look away, heart in my throat. I constantly underestimate how perceptive he is, especially when it comes to us. "It isn't you," I manage to say. "Tonight… all this… it's wonderful. I don't know what's the matter with me. Why I can't just…"

He kisses the back of my neck, and I think I might cry. He's trying so hard. And so am I. I'm trying so hard it hurts, as he moves to my shoulder, and slides an arm around my waist. I used to melt when he did this, spontaneous and sultry, and I will myself to melt again. Free your mind, Trinity._ Free your mind. _

We used to make love, fully clothed in the Neb's engine room, the buzz of the pads drowning out his grunts and my vehement cursing. My breeches chafed against my hips and the metal wall was awkward and uncomfortable on my back, I remember. And he wasn't gentle with me. There was no time to be gentle. We saved our tenderness for Zion, or for the rare night our sleep shifts overlapped. But the truth is, my most cherished erotic memories are of those heated trysts in the bowels of the ship. Stealing away with him in the middle of the day after a shootout in the matrix, after a close call with an agent – this was my fetish. It still is. I can't help it.

Our mattress is too soft, my lover is too careful. My daughter is too beautiful, her eyes are too brown. I feel like I'm sixteen again, rejecting the code, rejecting the fantasy. But this isn't a fantasy. This is my life. It's the life I've never allowed myself to want. And after Neo, that was the hardest thing I ever had to do. To accept that we'd never have this.

By the time I return to the present, leaving the Neb and the war behind, I'm nestled under a hand-woven duvet, my head on his shoulder. This is how we used to end all our arguments- we'd just make love, and everything would be better. It used to be enough. So many things have changed.

* * *

"I need two eggs."

"I don't like eggs."

"You won't taste them once the cake is done."

"Then why put them in at all?"

"It makes all the other ingredients stick together," I reply. "Eggs are like glue for bundt cakes."

"Then let's use glue," Aurora proposes. "Glue tastes better than eggs, anyhow."

I arch an eyebrow at her. She has a plastic tiara on her head, glitter on her cheeks, and a mischievous grin on her lips. "Mom, I'm just kidding!" the princess squeals, delighted that she thinks she tricked me. "I haven't eaten glue in decades!"

That's the word of the day on _Sesame Street._ Decade. "You are only five. That's half a decade. And you ate an entire glue-stick just last year. Nearly gave Daddy a heart attack."

"I didn't."

"I need those eggs. Be careful with them. No juggling acts today."

"I'm a good juggler. I'm going to join the circus when I grow up." She pirouettes over to the fridge and I wince as she precariously holds the eggs between her thumbs and index fingers. "I'm going to be a lion tamer so I can set all the animals free."

I bend down to rescue the eggs and press her nose like a button. "A monkey taming lions. I'd pay to see that."

"I'm not a monkey."

"You're a squirrel?"

"I'm a marble bundt fairy."

I chuckle. Her father taught her that. It's becoming a tradition. On his birthday, she and I will bake Tom his favorite dessert.

As I crack the second egg, my hand freezes. _Tom._ The name strikes me as incorrect. _Thomas. _No, that's worse.

"He's here!" she exclaims wildly, peering through the curtains. "Mom! Hide!"

"This isn't a surprise party."

She squeaks and races towards me, grabbing my hand. "Hurry!"

The sound of the key in the front door sends her into gales of nervous laughter. She latches onto my arm and pulls as hard she can, dragging me down with her behind the island.

"Jo?" he calls out as the door croaks open. Rorie covers her mouth and plunges her face into my stomach, her body shaking with glee. I run my fingers through her hair and lean back on the cupboards. Tom would have to be deaf not to hear her.

"Anybody home?" he drags out each syllable, playing along. "Jordan? Aurora?"

And there is that feeling again. _Jordan. Aurora. Tom. _

"Those aren't our names!" she calls out. "Call us by our right names and we'll come out!"

"Ah. But what if I find you first?"

"You won't! We're invisible!" (Where does she come up with this stuff?) "It'll take you _decades_ to find us!"

Now I'm laughing. She pulls at my apron and leads me out into the open with her. "Invisible!" she declares with absolute confidence. "You can't see us!"

My husband looks straight into my eyes. "A pity," he remarks, and his gaze roams a bit lower. I shake my head and look away.

"Say our real names to break the spell," our daughter instructs. "It's magic."

He nods, and walks to within touching distance, deciding that, "Magic requires pixie dust."

He pinches some flour from my mixing bowl and sprinkles it onto Rorie's head. "I proclaim thee, marble bundt fairy, lowercase apprentice."

Rorie. That's it. That's what we should call her.

"And as for you…" he runs his powdery index finger down the slope of my nose, and onto my chin. "…you're The Marble Bundt Fairy. Uppercase Queen."

"Happy Birthday," I whisper, as our lips meet. He kisses me deeply, pushing our bodies together as if we'd been separated for a lifetime. Time stops for a moment – it always does when he kisses me – and I melt. My hands on his blazer, over his collar, to the knot in his tie. A pocket-protector. A nametag. _Thomas Anderson. _

_No._

"I missed you," he breathes.

"I can tell." As the words come from my mouth I realize they've been spoken before. The sensation of déjà vu is disorienting for only an instant before I realize what's happened. "This must be a dream."

"If you think so now, wait until tonight," he murmurs into my ear, brushing the lobe as he speaks.

"No. No, I…" I back away and look around, taking everything in for the first time. The house is cozy and warm, with beige fabrics and earth tones... photographs everywhere. I hurry over to the window and look into the front yard. Thank God, no picket fence. But there are tulips, and a flowering cherry tree. We are somewhere in the suburbs. And if my memory serves me correctly… yes, there it is. The minivan. Goddamned green Dodge Caravan. I used to enjoy blowing these monstrosities off the highway. "I've got to get the hell out of here."

"Jo?"

"That isn't my name," I reply.

"Marble Bundt Fairy, then," he chuckles. "I suggest you get this cake in the oven before your Imp and I eat all the batter. Not that I think there is anything… the _batter_ with that."

Oh, God. This apparition even puns like Neo. "I need to wake up."

"I should say so."

"No you… you don't understand." I turn around, catching Rorie snatch her finger back from the aluminum bowl and guiltily slip it in her mouth. It all seems so real. "This isn't my life…" I stutter, hoping this realization will break the spell and wake me up. "I'm having a dream."

My concern grows as he stares at me in confusion. Rorie frowns. "I want to put the candles on," she specifies, obviously hoping for a change of subject. "How old are you, Daddy?"

"I'm thirty five," he says, distracted, still looking at me strangely. I do the math. Yes, if Rorie is five, that's correct.

"How many decades is that?" she asks.

Now he gives Rorie a strange look. "Three and a half."

"Then three more than me."

"Jo, what's the matter?"

"My name is Trinity." I say it louder than I need to, as if shouting it out in protest to the dream god. Morpheus. As if he hasn't meddled enough in my personal life lately… the least he can do is deliver me from this nightmare. But now I'm the one who isn't making any sense.

"My name is Trinity," I say again. "And your name is Neo. And Aurora is Rorie, or… she is Rorie five years from now. None of this is real. We don't have a house like this, or a minivan. I drive Ducatis and you… well, you prefer to fly…"

The expression on my daughter's face is enough to make me stop talking. No - I correct myself – she isn't my daughter… she's this girl whom my subconscious would have me believe is my daughter. And yet, the eyes are the same… and she looks so much like her father. She's beautiful.

"Sweetheart, why don't you go play with your microscope?" Neo suggests. "I'll call you when it's time to put the candles on."

Rorie hesitates, but kisses the cheek he offers her, and then scowls at me on her way out. Bad mother. I suppose some things never change – no matter what alternate dimension you slip into.

"Okay," Neo says once we are alone. "What's going on? Are there cameras in the room? Am I going to see myself on some reality TV show a few months from now?"

I bite the inside of my mouth and pinch myself as hard as I can. No effect. And he's waiting for an answer. "No, everything I just said was true. Neo, we're…" I sigh. I can't believe I'm about to do this for a second time. "We are inside a dream. A dream about a life inside a computer generated illusion that we call the Matrix. Even if this were real, it still wouldn't be real. Do you understand?"

"Jo, you're starting to freak me out."

"I told you… my name-"

"Is _Trinity_."

"Yes."

"Trinity, like the guy who cracked the IRS D-Base?"

I roll my eyes. Figures. "Yes. That was me. I'm _The_ IRS D-Base Trinity. But you can call me Trin."

"And I'm _Neo."_

"Yes."

"And, just for the sake of my curiosity… what did you call Aurora?"

"Rorie. You came up with the nickname a month ago. Everyone thought it suited her. But she isn't five. She's only nine weeks old."

"And you think you're dreaming all this up?"

"I know I am. I'm asleep, next to you… in Zion."

"Zion?"

"It's a long story," I reply, growing impatient with the conversation. "And I'm going to wake up any minute so there's no point going into it. I just… have to wait." I look up and fold my arms, as I do when I want the operator to pull me out of a simulation. But time just ticks by, and as it does, he watches me, half-concerned, half-bewildered. With a huff, I brush past him and march back into the kitchen.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"Well, if I'm stuck here, I might as well finish the damn cake," I say. "Because I'm not going to sit and watch you stare at me like that all evening. You're always staring at me like that these days and I hate it. I am trying my best, for God's sake."

"Maybe you should lie down."

"Maybe you should pass me the chocolate before the baby gets me up for another midnight feeding."

Without sparing him a second glance, I grab a spatula and begin mixing. A moment later a frozen block is placed next to my hand. "How old did you say she was? Nine weeks?"

"Nine weeks and two days tomorrow," I reply, dropping the unsweetened cocoa to a bowl, which I place inside a pot of boiling water. I stir it around as it melts. "I can't get her to sleep through the night."

"I remember that. She goes to bed at seven and then is up at twelve. Then again at four in the morning. You were so tired you couldn't see straight."

I look up at him. "Yeah."

"But don't you remember, you had that idea to get her into a routine- you skipped the bedtime feeding and woke her up at ten instead. Then she slept until five. Worked like a charm."

I arch an eyebrow. "I had an idea? That worked?" I scoff and pour the liquid chocolate into my cake mix. "Now I know I'm dreaming."

"I don't understand."

"I mean… I don't think I was meant to be a mother in the real world any more than I was meant to be a mother here. She cries when I hold her. She struggles when I change her. I usually need a team of engineers to get her to burp. I'm useless."

I don't know why I'm pouring my heart out to a figment of my imagination, but for some reason, speaking to virtual-Neo is easier than speaking to Neo-proper. "I'm useless," I repeat with conviction, combining the chocolate and vanilla batter in a doughnut-shaped pan. "And it hurts to fail. Because I love her more than I've ever loved anything."

I take a knife and begin swirling, creating an elaborate marble effect of the two flavors. He catches my wrist, gently, and in spite of myself I give him my attention.

"Hey. I want to show you something. Come with me."

* * *

Rorie's room is pink, and her bed is canopied in white lace. So I dream in clichés, I think dryly, as Neo gives me the tour. Children's fairytales line her bookshelf, and I'm not surprised to find _Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, _and _Sleeping Beauty._ But there are photographs as well, one of which gives me pause – I've seen it before, in the real world. Neo took it only a few minutes after Rorie was born. It had been a difficult labor, and I looked terrible and felt worse, my hair matted to my forehead and my skin paler than the white hospital gown I had on. In fact, I hid the photo and made Neo promise not to show it to anyone. Strange that in this universe, it's mounted in a frame.

"I don't know about anything you said to me," Neo says, sitting on her bed as I turn my attention to some of her artwork. Many are stick-figure families._ Mom. Dad. Me._ Consistently, she and I are holding hands.

"But I do know that you're a wonderful mother. You always have been. She idolizes you, Jo."

"That's just it. She idolizes _Jordan._ That isn't who I am. I haven't been Jordan, or anyone even remotely like her for fifteen years. I can't just… flick a switch and change back. It's not that easy…"

I trail off when Rorie prances in, big brown eyes sparkling at me. Like she has a secret. On instinct, I kneel down as she cups her hands around her mouth, speaking into my ear. "I caught six grasshoppers for Daddy's birthday. You need to help me wrap them. They keep jumping off the paper."

I have no idea how to wrap grasshoppers. Case and point: IRS D-Base Trinity crashes again. But before I can throw my arms up in defeat, she kisses me on the cheek and gestures for me to follow.

Neo smiles. "Well, regardless of what name you want to call yourself, Aurora still seems to love you."

I have to admit, she does. And perhaps it's foolish for me to feel proud that my imaginary daughter is tugging at my apron, sliding her hands into mine. But I can't help it. While I'm here… I might as well play along, I think. What harm could it do?

And there is something about this young girl that makes it impossible for me to say no.

"Go get a jar from the recycling bin," I tell her. "And bring me the lid. We'll catch tons."

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**  
Chapter Four**

* * *

Rorie stirs at a little past midnight, delivering me from Tom's arms into Neo's. He has the same intimate touch, the same breath on my neck as he caresses a hand over my tummy and hip to ease me awake. "Trin?"

"Tom?" I murmur, my fingers dancing over his chest. "Mmm. That was amazing."

It's during the _zing_ that the realization hits me. The baby is crying. And the white stucco and ceiling fan above us is gone, replaced by an arc of stone. Neo props himself up on his elbow and grimaces. "What did you just call me?"

"I uhm…"

Rorie comes to my rescue, her wailing bringing back an anxiety that wrenches my head off the pillow and plants my feet on the ground. "I'll feed her. Don't get up."

I hurry from the room, pulling my robe tightly around my waist, and I imagine Neo watching me go with the classically bewildered expression I've come to resent. But of course I deserve it this time. If he ever called me Jordan in bed, I'd smother him to death.

Then again, from my perspective, he'd shouted it out repeatedly less than half an hour ago, and I certainly wasn't complaining. God, what in the world was I thinking?

"Too much of your Daddy's cooking before bed," I comment, picking Rorie up and resting her against my chest. I press my nose to the top of her head as she sobs, breathing in the scent of her hair. _Flour._ No, it must be my imagination. I hush her, and pace a little before settling into a chair next to the crib.

I'm clumsy and uncoordinated as usual, perhaps more so because I'm distracted. The details of my dream are all coming back to me with remarkable clarity, especially the memory of Rorie. No, _Aurora._ She'd corrected me several times. Just as my husband had corrected me several times, finally growing exasperated midway through the birthday song. Granted, at that point, I was just being stubborn. _Happy birthday dear Nee-oh… _

The fight was short but heated. He wanted me to call him Tommy. Which was out of the question. _But that's what you always call me, baby. _And excuse me? If he wanted to live to see thirty-six, he'd never call me baby again. Fine, dammit. Then we'll compromise. Tom and Jo.

"No. Tom and _Trinity._"

"You can't be serious! Jo, you did not crack the IRS D-Base!"

"Oh, this coming from a man who couldn't backspace his way out of a paper bag."

"And so what if I can't!"

"You're The One!"

"I sell wicker furniture and I'm damn good at it!"

"Oh, God! Either wake me up or kill me now!"

"Mommy?"

Her voice caught me halfway to suicide, a sing-song cadence with a faint quiver.

_Poor Aurora._

Unable to bear the thought of making her cry, I managed to smile, looking _Tom_ straight in the eye. "You may call me _Jordan,_" I said evenly. "Now make a wish and blow out your candles before we're all eating wax as icing."

Of course, I was never successful in convincing them that they didn't really exist. My daughter got upset whenever I made reference to my other life, and Tom had the nerve to suggest I see a therapist. Or get a CAT scan. Or undergo hypnosis. Just, get some help, Jordan. Please.

_'And whatever it is causing these hallucinations... I'll still love you. We'll get through this. Together.' _

I'd nearly slapped him. Hell, I'd nearly scorpion-kicked him. But it was his birthday. And the truth is, apart from the tension caused by our respective identity crises, we were having a good time. Tom had been right when he told me that Aurora and I were close. If anything, it was an understatement. She absolutely adored me. It seemed that as long as I played along with the role that I was her mother, I could do no wrong.

"If only it were really that easy," I whisper. She looks up at me. The same eyes. The same sparkle. The marble bundt fairy. lowercase.

Funny, now that I've dreamt it, I can't imagine her any other way.

_Mommy, sing me._

_Hm?_

_Sing me. Lily-pies._

_Lullabies?_

_Lily-pies. You haven't in decades. _

I'd hoped that Tom would put her to bed, perhaps more out of habit than anything else. But apparently, in this universe, it was always me. Oh, fine. But then, on top of it all, she wanted a _lily-pie?_ No, if Neo heard me singing in my sleep, I'd never hear the end of it. I was putting my foot down. No song. I tucked her in tight and kissed her forehead. And now be a good little dream and go to sleep.  
_  
Hmm-m I want to lin-ger  
Hmm-m a little lon-ger  
Hmm-m a little lon-ger here with you… Hmm-m-m…  
_  
I was not going to join in. Even though I knew the words (of course I did, this was my dream). Aurora grinned, as if knowing she was getting to me and chirped sweetly,  
_  
Hmm-m it's such a per-fect night  
Hmm-m it doesn't seem quite right  
Hmm-m that I can't spend more time with you... Hmm-m-m…_

_"Hmm-m but as the years go by  
Hmm-m remember this and sigh  
Hmm-m this is good night and not good bye..."  
_  
"Trin?"

Startled, my eyes snap up. Neo is leaning on the door-jamb, beaming at me. "I told you to go back to bed."

"You were singing… "

"I thought it might make her less fussy," I stutter defensively, suddenly feeling foolish. But as I say it, I realize that I've more than achieved my goal. Rorie is asleep, cheek pillowed on my breast, one of her fists balled around the button of her nose.

"Looks like it worked."

"Shhh!" I hush him, a smile creeping across my lips. It did work, didn't it? Trinity: one. Neo: well, I've lost count. But I'm gaining on him. Daddy couldn't carry a tune in a bucket (neither could auntie Niobe), and I'm secretly pleased at the thought. Lily-pies are now Mommy's thing.

I continue to hum softly as I lay her on her back, meticulously arranging the blankets, looping her hair around my pinky. But I'll wake her up if I keep fondling, so with reluctance I tear myself away. Maybe it's silly to feel so fulfilled by such a small success, but I haven't felt this secure with her since I was pregnant.  
_  
I like your voice. Daddy says you sound like an angel when you sing me._

_Hmm. So you'll sleep? Now that I've sung you?_

_Yep. I knew you would… you always do. I love you, Mommy.  
_  
"I love you, too." I whisper it over her crib, just as Neo caresses the small of my back. He pulls me close as we head back to our bedroom, and I can feel his eyes on my profile. "So," he murmurs, nudging me playfully with his hip. "Tonight was _amazing,_ hm?"

I smirk at my own private joke. Then I glance over my shoulder, back in the direction of our daughter's bedroom. "Yeah," I reply thoughtfully. "It really was."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**  
Chapter Five**

* * *

The next two weeks pass by with exhausting consistency – that is, from my perspective, I don't get any rest at all. By day, I am _Trinity, _Zionist spiritual icon and director of humanity's most significant building project. But by night, I'm _Mrs. Jordan Anderson, _housewife and esteemed head of the neighborhood book club. Imagine my expression when Tom thrust a copy of _Emma_ into my hand and told me to go 'have fun with the girls.'

Apparently, he blames my _delusions_ on stress. I get backrubs. Foot massages. Paid certificates to the local spa. The way my doting husband sees it, he'll just spoil the _Trinity_ straight out of me. And though at first I was only taking advantage (he's the best dream I've had in a very long time and goddamn it, I should be sleeping anyway), now I find myself willfully immersing myself in the fantasy. I've turned down sex with my real lover to curl up on the couch and watch _American Idol _with my imagined one (damn, those kids can _sing)_. Aurora has a crush on the blonde one from Kansas City. Or, she did, back when she was ten.

As far as I can understand, the rule is that for every day which passes in Zion, about a year will in my dreams. I've seen my daughter go from kindergarten to high-school, from _lily-pies_ to _Green Day_… from pink frocks and strawberry lip-gloss to a truly hideous version of the gothic aesthetic that sent my real-self rolling out of bed and onto the floor. Fortunately, by the time I got back to sleep, she'd outgrown it.

She's also outgrown the nightly kisses and bedtime stories, and according to her worldly teenage wisdom, she's outgrown _me._ I've been told that I'm 'uncool.' What's sad is that it actually hurt my feelings (when you make your living the way I have, it's hard to imagine ever being dubbed a square). I'd gone in that damn minivan to pick her up from school, and broke the rule that I'm supposed to wait for her around the corner. _Around the corner, _Mom. It's bad enough you come to get me, anyhow. Nobody else's parents drive them home.

"And nobody else's parents were willing to take the entire team to soccer practice. But you weren't complaining then."

"That was like, a _decade_ ago!"

"It was last week! You know I slept though my morning meetings just so I could watch your championship game? I took heat from the council for that one."

"Urgh! Nobody else's parents have secret identities, either! You know how embarrassing it is to have a mother who is _clinically insane_!?"

I felt a pang in my stomach as her rhetorical question hit much too close to home. In fact, I did. I knew it all too well- and Aurora had no idea what ' clinically insane' really meant. She slammed the door shut and curled up in her seat, her back to me, staring out the window. Pouting. She'd been acting like this for the past few nights, hormonal and awkward to the point of driving me crazy. Yesterday, I'd spent an hour in a yelling match with her when she wouldn't clean her room. _If I'm just a dream- why won't you just leave me alone?! _she'd screamed at the top of her lungs. _Why do you even care!? _

Well, a messy room is a messy room. And I wasn't waking up until it was clean. How could I go through my day with the mental image of that pigsty playing havoc in the back of my mind? I told her that if this ended up affecting the building project, she could be compromising the security of the entire human race. She slammed the door in my face and turned the music on as loud as it would go- at which point I gave up. I held my breath and blocked my nose, hoping this forced suffocation would end the dream. It didn't- but I did pass out. When I came to, Aurora was standing over me, in the doorway of her newly-cleaned bedroom. She frowned and shook her head._ You're so weird. I'm going out. _As if she didn't care that she'd nearly driven me to commit morphean suicide.

Back in the van and newly annoyed by the memory, I glared a fresh dagger of frustration at her. Aurora had propped her feet onto the dash and was listening to her iPod. Biting at her ruby nail polish with moody nonchalance. Fed up, I slapped her hand away, yanked an earphone out, and told her to sit properly.

"At least let me drive," she said.

"What?"

"I got my permit. Oh, but I forgot. You must have been out saving the world from robots that day."

My hands gripped the wheel tighter. "The _machines_... are _sentient... cybernetic_... entities-" (why do I feel the need to explain this every night?) "-who have enslaved the human race-"

"-in a digital dreamland that you call the Matrix. I know – you've been telling me my whole life. It's okay. I _believe _you. This is all _just a dream._" She smiled sweetly and patted my shoulder. "I won't call the men in the white coats if you let me drive."

"You aren't driving."

"Please?"

"No. Maybe the men in white coats will let you drive the wagon they cart me off in."

"Mom… please? Dad is too scared to teach me. He says I go too fast."

I arched an eyebrow. Yes, Tom _would _think that. But the top speed of a Dodge Caravan is 120 mph. So, you see, it's quite impossible to go too fast. Neo _flies _faster on a full stomach. I considered saying this just to exasperate her, but something in Aurora's expression told me it wasn't the time to bring up her Dad's superpowers... again.

One thing I would really love to do with my real daughter is teach her how to drive a car. No, better yet, a motorcycle. Against the flow of traffic. Steering with one hand, and shooting down a fleet of squad-cars with the other. We could each take a lane and work in tandem, covering each other, racing to the exit. Not in a combat situation, but just in a sim... for _fun_. Of course, that will never happen. She'll be an engineer and a pilot. Perhaps the first female, free-born captain. I can see it in her three-month-old eyes already. She's going to be _brilliant. _

Then I glanced over at Aurora - my last best chance at a daughter who could ever share my passion for a good, old-fashioned car chase. But of course Tom would kill me if we got arrested. I'd have to settle for the Disney version. It couldn't hurt to let her drive home, and I'd let her go a few kilometers over the speed-limit. She smiled at me, and made an exaggerated version of a begging puppy, trying her damndest to be cute (she had my empathy: it is difficult to be adorable when your baby-T reads in big, bloody letters, _I put the 'laughter' back in manslaughter_). "I'll love you forever and ever," she claimed. "And… I promise, I'll never send you to the crazy house. Even when you get so old, you're completely useless to society. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Yes, you most certainly _do." _

She squealed and popped her door open, knowing she'd won. There was a thrilled sparkle in her heavily-mascaraed eyes as she planted a foot on the gas petal and revved the engine. It almost looked like lust. I smiled at her, imagining the same girl in a fleet uniform at the helm of the Neb. Oh yes, my daughter is going to be absolutely _brilliant. _

But before I could tell her to check the rear-view mirror, I was thrown against the dashboard. "Oh, sorry. You okay?"

Horns honked from both directions as we blocked traffic, as I eased myself back into the passenger's seat and buckled my safety-belt. "I'm fine. Just… try to _ease _onto the petals."

"Yeah, that's what I'm doing."

Another lurch sent my head flying forward and then jerking back in a refreshing snap- oh, how I've missed the whiplash. Rubber screeched on pavement. Pedestrians fled for their lives. And as God is my witness, the trip to 01 was less fraught with peril. At one point I looked over to find she'd actually shut her eyes. I've never screamed like that in my life – throwing one arm across her chest in a futile gesture of protectiveness, I took the wheel with the other and yanked, struggling with her as she tried to regain control.

"Mom, get off. Get off the wheel!"

"Are you crazy!? Stop! _Brake!"_

"I am!"

"That _isn't_ the brake!"

"Oh, fuck-in-a-hole!"

_"Hey, you watch that mouth!" _

The sudden impact of the airbag on my face was worse that the actual crash, which I would soon discover was into the bumper of a parked police car (this was later to be remembered as the driving lesson's highest point of fulfillment). A distant siren wailed as I choked on a fog of baking soda and baby powder.

"Mom?" Aurora meekly called out to me. _"...Mummy?" _

"Yes…?" I felt a sickening panic as I reached over to find her. "Aurora!"

"I'm okay."

I pushed the slowly deflating bag aside and looked her over frenetically, seeing she was fine, if not a little shaken. My heart began to beat again. "Oh, thank God..." Then, I was annoyed. Impossible she was so terrible at this. "You could have killed us. What the hell was... was... _that?"_

"I dunno." Hands shaking, she shifted the wrecked car into park- classic _Neo_ if ever I saw it. "Sorry?"

_'I dunno.'... 'Sorry.' _I stared at her in wordless exclamation, and before I knew what I was doing, my arms were around her shoulders, pulling her awkwardly across the armrest and onto my chest. I hugged her tightly, ignoring her choked exclamations that she was okay. I was still in mild shock from the accident, which was miraculous, because I've been known to walk away from worse wrecks with my wits completely intact. My eyes were stinging; a lump was rising in my throat. It was a moment I will always remember- the first time I allowed myself to acknowledge how much this girl meant to me. Not what she represented, not the person she was supposed to be - but _her- _the dream who was now as real to me as anything. The details were so vivid. The deliberate eyeliner curling, Egyptian-style, at the corners of her lids... the jet black hair razored along her jaw in the front, grown long in the back, teased into a choppy ponytail. The amber necklace around her neck on a silver chain. Chewed nail beds. Tattered friendship bracelets. Knee-high Dr. Martins. She smelled like perfume and freshly-cut grass. She had breasts, hips, and a morbid sense of humour. What she had, was _me_ written all over her.

And she looked as if the world had come to an end. "The van. Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." I resisted the urge to thank her and double whatever she was receiving as allowance. "I'm not mad."

"'Cause you blow up stuff all the time, right? In your other life... so it would be really hypocritical to punish me for something as small as this."

She deadpanned the facetious comment cleverly, looking me straight in the eye. _Smart ass. _In a flash, I punched my elbow against the passenger's window, shattering the glass so I could open the crunched door from the outside handle. Her jaw dropped, and I pretended not to notice. "Come on. If we're late for dinner, your Dad will worry."

Due to my… _skills on the road,_ we made it just in time. And Tom took the news about his beloved Caravan relatively well. He was less keen on my choice of a replacement vehicle, however. It was delicious to see his face when I coasted into the driveway on a chrome Ducati, with Aurora riding shotgun. It was even more wonderful to hear my daughter screech with a mixture of fear and delight as I took the corners a bit too harshly. _Mom, slow down! Mom, you're insane!_ She clutched my waist for dear life and laughed, and screamed. _Please! No! I'm too popular to die- I…I…Mom, I have a boyfriend!_

I nearly crashed the bike, skidding to a halt, not sure if I heard right. _What!? _

She giggled into my back and we pulled off the helmets. _He asked me out today! I thought I'd… like, die, he's so gorgeous! I need a ride home from the movie on Friday night… could you come get me on this!? You can meet him and everything… just do me a favor and… don't make him call you 'Trinity,' kay? _

I laughed, and then gave her my best promise. I felt free. I couldn't describe it, but her happiness- the happiness she shared with me in confidence- was unique from any joy I'd ever felt before. She was laughing with me. She was _riding_ with me- which definitely constituted a special kind of bonding. Ducatis are magical that way. Neo and I had many good times on a Ducati. It's… the _family _motorcycle.

I revved the engine and gave the handlebar a loving caress, signaling for Aurora to brace herself. We had some errands to run. She needed a leather jacket, sunglasses, and riding gloves. No, no, no. _We_ needed _matching_ leather jackets, sunglasses, and riding gloves. And if she was going to start dating, I had to show her some basic mechanisms of self-defense. _Jiu-Jitsu. _A _lady's_ martial-art. Mr. Like,- So-Gorgeous had better watch himself.

Outrageously, Tom accused me of going through a midlife crisis. Midlife? At twenty-nine? But from his perspective, I'd had that birthday sixteen years ago. And true, I have noticed that my physical parameters are not immune to the accelerated flow of time in my dreamworld- some unpleasant sagging has forced me to opt for more tactful lingerie. But I am still myself. When I wake up, I make sure of it. Three months after giving birth, I'm tight. Firm. Perky. And then, I'll peek at Neo. He hasn't had time to go to the gym in months. Not good. And I know that is just another argument waiting to happen.

* * *

If this strange experience has taught me one thing, it's that I'm a one man woman (or, more specifically, I'm a one _Neo_ Trinity). The two of them are just too much. Predictably enough, Tom agrees with me. He has grown tired of giving me advice on how to be married to a man whom he is certain doesn't exist beyond my chronic schizophrenia. After so many years of what he calls 'sharing me,' he is putting his foot down. _No more sex with Neo! I mean it, Jo! Just… say no. You're married to me. Is he here, in the room, right now, Jo? I'll talk to him. Hello!? Can you hear me, Neo? You leave my wife alone, understand? God... _(and here he plunged his face into his palms in anguish)… _why aren't the pills the doctor gave us working? _

I don't dare tell Neo about Tom. Heaven forbid if somehow, the two dimensions ever collide… it would end in a bizarre battle to the death, with Neo beating his poor, balding, arthritic, furniture-selling self into a bloody pulp, and Tom pathetically fighting back with a rolled-up newspaper. _Off! Back, you home-wrecker! Back, you Tommy wannabe! Oh, God! It flies! It flies!!_

And then there would be Neo, deivering the death-blow: _"My name... is NEO!" _

"But, technically, would that be _murder_ or _suicide?"_

Niobe thinks the whole thing is very funny. We were shopping when I finally spilled it all out, unable to find a credible excuse for what she calls my erratic behavior. I suppose I can't blame her. I was explaining to the seamstress _exactly_ what I wanted. _No, it's a canopy, with one hump, hemmed in Buck's Point lace. And this pink is too dusty. Lighter, like a pastel. And can I have a duvet to match? No lace on the linins- she doesn't like that- it'll scratch her skin when she sleeps. _

I caught Niobe grimacing apologetically at the young nun, who was scribbling my instructions down nervously. I hadn't been nearly so picky with my bridal gown. But this was different. I knew what Rorie's room was supposed to look like. I had known all along, but for some reason or another, I needed my subconscious to communicate the specifications to me in my sleep. Or something like that.

"You're kidding me, right? The ghost of Rorie's future is telling you what colour the bedspread should be? Is she also the one who taught you the term, _Buck's Point_ lace?"

"No. I asked Tom about that one."

"And… _Tom_ knows lace?"

"We Googled it."

"I see." She was on the verge of laughing, waiting for me to break my pretense of gravity and join in. It didn't happen. "Trinity…? Are you…_ drunk?"_

"You know, it's tiring enough that everyone in the dream thinks I'm crazy. I expected more from you."

"Hold on- wait. _They_ think you're crazy? You… you told them about Zion? You told them that they were part of a dream?"

"The constant reminder to myself is comforting. It all seems so real."

"But… Trinity." She pulled me aside and lowered her voice. "You can't tell bluepills about the Matrix. It's… one of our _rules." _

I pushed her away as she began to giggle. "I don't know why I tell you anything."

"Oh, I'll tell you why. Because if you told Ghost, he'd recommend meditation. And if you told Morpheus, he'd recommend the Oracle. And if you told Neo… well, clearly, that's impossible. We have that multi-dimensional implosion to worry about. Nothing funny about that."

"And what do you recommend, besides a healthy dose of mockery?"

"Well… okay." She folded her arms and gave it some thought, turning serious, if only for a moment. "Clearly, there is some deep-seeded reason why your mind feels the need to create this fantasy. Most people believe that dreams are ways of fulfilling our greatest desires. Seems pretty open and shut to me. You have in your dream what you wish you had here."

"That's ridiculous. I have no desire to be the housewife to a furniture salesman and soccer-mom to a tenacious adolescent. In many ways, this dream represents everything I fear most about becoming a parent. Well, recently I've begun making some minor improvements, but for the most part, it's practically a nightmare."

"A nightmare so terrifying that you are recreating it here- one piece of Buck's Point at a time."

The nun nodded in agreement, quickly jumping back to her work when I glared over my shoulder. They couldn't fault me from taking what little guidance I could from such a successful dry-run as Rorie's mom. She'd gown into a great kid. Surely, the lace played no small part.

"Damnit." I shook my head at myself, feeling as if I'd hit another brick wall. "What the hell am I doing? I don't know what I'm _doing." _

"Hey, don't look at me. A miracle David is still alive."

Niobe's self-deprecating humour was new this past year. Neither of us liked it. It was at this point we decided to go home, to the kids. To my _real_ daughter, who still falls asleep to lily-pies, and still looks up at me as if she knows something I don't. It intimidates me to no end. She smiles when she hears my voice. She giggles and squeals at almost everything. Neo is good at making her laugh. I find myself sitting back and watching him entertain her, wondering how it can come so easily to him. He knows how to hold her, how to tickle her, what to say – usually something utterly ludicrous that somehow seems appropriate. I feel guilty because I'm secretly yearning for the moment I can put my head down onto the pillow and dream up something else. So I can vent my frustrations to Tom and help Aurora pick a prom dress.

"Goddamn it, Trinity. They aren't real."

How many times have I said this to myself? And yet the only time I can focus on the _real_ is when I'm at the dock. I can't help it – to separate one family from the other is impossible. When I watch Rorie sleep I worry about how Aurora's SAT scores came out. When I look at Neo, I see how he will look in twenty years. And that is one giant bucket of ice-water, let me tell you. I've got to get that man back in the gym.

I check my watch. The eleventh. Aurora will be nineteen. _Nineteen._ And my heart beats a little faster- I'm troubled. It's going too quickly- and in some wildly illogical part of my brain, I don't like that I consistently 'leave her alone' for months at a time. If only it were possible to slow it down. If only I understood why I'm doing this to myself- if, indeed, it is _me_ who is doing this. I haven't ruled out supernatural causes. Stranger things have happened. God, the Devil, the Tooth-Fairy. Anyone who has the answers is welcome to drop in and explain all this, I think, clutching some paperwork to my chest, counting the floors flicker by in the elevator. It is eight in the evening, and I'm usually in bed by ten.

I rush to my front door, not sure why I'm in such a hurry. I sense something is wrong. An unexplained panic. It's Rorie. Or Aurora. My fingers are shaking as I pull out my keys, and I'm very nearly sick. What is this? An anxiety attack? Exhaustion? Hypoglycemia? I haven't been eating very much. The apartment is dark when I pace in, except for a light form the nursery. I drop the paperwork and jog to the door, calling my husband's name.

I very nearly call him Tom.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**  
Chapter Six**

* * *

When I enter my apartment and rush into Rorie's room, I find everything exactly as it should be. Neo is doting on her - counting her toes and tickling the bottoms of her feet. Still, my heart is pounding. If it's not Rorie, it has to be Aurora. One of them. Something is wrong.

"Are you alright?" Neo asks. "You look a little spooked."

"I'm fine. I'm tired. I should get to bed early, I think. Maybe... now."

Neo looks up, surprised. "Well... ok. I mean, good. It's good you're going to take a break. You'll... I mean, about Rorie..."

"I'll feed her early. Give her to me." This will destroy the schedule that has been working for two weeks but I don't care. "Will you put her to sleep?"

"No lily-pie tonight?"

"I'd have you sing it but it'll be hard for her to fall asleep with a dozen howling dogs in the room."

The insult is so deadpan as to cause injury. Neo leaves the room without a word, but the look he gives our daughter as he places her in my arms is meant to tell her to _watch out._ Indeed, Rorie's expression is that of mild alarm as I unbutton my blouse.

"I'm sorry, I know it's early. But I think..." (How to explain this to her?) "I think somebody very important to us both might be in trouble. You don't know her, but you will. She's you. In a dream, nearly twenty years from now." The irony associated with the act of abandoning the real Rorie to rescue the fake one is not lost on me. "It's not rational, I know. And I'm sorry for that. But these aren't just random dreams. They're... somebody is trying to tell me something, and I think it's important. I have to find out."

To her credit, Rorie is far less judgmental than her adolescent counterpart. She blinks twice and suckles without further comment or objection. _Hey, Mom. It's cool. You gotta do what you gotta do, and I gotta do what I gotta do. _

Indeed. The moment we are done I hand her off to Neo and leap into bed. I'm so agitated it is difficult to get to sleep. Perhaps drugs will help, but then again they might impair my judgment in the dream, and if something really is the matter, I might need it. I try to clear my mind and I count the passing of seconds by the tempo of my pulse.

* * *

When I arrive, the house is quiet and still. There is no pounding of industrial music upstairs, no mess of schoolbags and jacket in the foyer. I call for Aurora, and get no answer. I call again. Tom finds me. His expression is puzzled and excited.

"Hey, is Aurora home?" he asks. "I didn't know she was home."

"How should I know if she's home? I just _got_ here. You're the full-time, non-hallucinatory parent. You tell me, Tom, for chrissakes."

"Oh, this again." Tom sighs. "As far as I know, she's at school."

I check my watch. "It's Saturday."

"I mean on campus. At Berkeley. She's been there for five years, Jo."

"Five years?" That doesn't make sense. It's one-year, one-night. That's how it has always worked. Last night she was nineteen. I've been cheated out of five years. "What..." I am at a loss. "Well..." There are too many questions. "She got into _Berkeley!?"_

"UC Berkeley. Computer Engineering."

I nearly fall over. I nearly burst out laughing. "You're fucking kidding me!"

"No good? You helped her write the letter of application."

"It's one of the best programs in the country," I answer, so thrilled I think I might cry. "I didn't think she was serious about computers."

"I guess you rubbed off on her more than you thought."

I can only grin at the suggestion. I want to call her. I make Tom give me the number and I rush to the phone. No answer. I'm prompted to leave a message, but after a few moments of hesitation I hang up. What am I supposed to say? _Hi, it's Mom - congrats on your acceptance to university five years ago! Let's catch up!_ Aurora would probably understand; she is after all used to my so-called delusions. But I don't feel like humiliating myself.

I look at Tom, a little defeated. He suggests we play a game of Trivial Pursuit. Or checkers. Or there's a documentary about colonial furniture-making on that he wants to catch for the sake of professional development. We could pop some popcorn and just curl up on the couch...

"Does she carry a cell phone?" I interrupt him.

"That was her cell. She doesn't have a landline."

"Oh."

"Welcome to 2029."

"Shut up."

"You could email her," Tom suggests. "You two email alot."

It isn't satisfactory. My heart sinks as the realization slowly begins to set in. She's _gone. _She's grown up. This must have been what I was dreading. Would I ever see her again? Is this how the dream ends?

I leave Tom to watch his documentary and find my laptop upstairs. It's wildly pimped-out, and I can't help but assume that Aurora and I had at some point gone mad with it. The first thing I do is Google her. In fact, she is at UC Berkeley. She's doing research for the AI division developing first order probabilistic logics for knowledge representation and reasoning. _Sexy._ Next I find her on Facebook and am pleased to find that I am one of her friends, but altogether displeased to be on Facebook at all. Trinity would not do Facebook.

Hours later, I am still reading the history of our email exchange over the past five years. Tom was right. We emailed alot. Most of it is superficial touching-base. Complaints about her professors. Shop-talk about how, theoretically, one might crack an IRS D-Base. Plans for getting together that more often than not got cancelled because of her schedule. Over the years, the emails became more and more infrequent. I hadn't gotten one from her in over two weeks.

And that doesn't make sense to me, either. It doesn't make sense that I am here at all if she isn't here. I snatch up the phone and dial her number again. I am nearly giddy. This time, Aurora answers.

"Hello?"

"Aurora, it's me. It's Mom."

"Mom! Hey..." She seems taken aback. I listen as she tells someone to quiet down. "Are you at home right now?"

"Yes. Why? You wouldn't be planning on making a visit, now would you?"

There is a long silence. "Who told you? How could you know?" She laughs. "How could you possibly know? It was supposed to be a surprise visit! You've ruined it!"

"Maternal instinct. When will you be here?"

"We're almost there. Have you eaten? We'll pick something up."

"Who's we?"

"It's a surprise. I'm picking up noodles, OK? See you when we get there. Tell Dad to put his pants on."

My mouth opens but I'm not able to form the obvious question before she hangs up. Unbelievably, when I get downstairs, I find Tom watching _Sex in the City_ in his boxers, his trousers slung over the back of the couch.

"What the hell is this with your pants?" I ask.

"Oh, after I eat they feel a little restrictive." He pats his stomach. "I think it's gas. The ol' digestive system isn't what it used to be."

In disgust, I toss the pants back at him. Neo is going back to the gym_ tomorrow._ "Aurora is on her way. For god's sake, get dressed."

"She's coming now?"

"A surprise. She's bringing noodles."

He brushes the cookie crumbs off his chest. "Oh, I love noodles!"

* * *

Noodles aren't the only thing Aurora brings with her. I answer the door to find her standing next to one of the most nervous-looking young men I've ever seen. I stare at him over my daughter's shoulder as she throws her arms around me and squeezes so hard I think I might choke. Or maybe it's me squeezing too hard. Once I'm able to detach myself from the hug I look at Aurora properly, and indeed, she looks five years older. Most striking is that she looks more like me than I'd expected - or at least, what I'd looked like at that age. Her hair is short, her features are more angular, the brown eyes are focussed and delighted. Then she sees her father and squeals.

My attention shifts back to the awkward man in my doorway whom Aurora has cruelly left on his own as she embraces her father. He has a head of purely blonde curls and what amount to the cutest dimples I've ever seen on an adult member of the opposite sex. He smiles uncertainly and puts the takeout down to offer me his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Anderson. I'm-"

"Don't call me that. Call me Jordan," I interrupt. "Come in; it's chilly out."

"Oh, geez!" Aurora exclaims, helping with the bags as I close the door. "Mom, Dad, this is Gabriel. We're uhm... together. Surprise!"

"Yes, it is," I remark, finally taking his hand and trying hard not to dislike him instantly. "It's nice to meet you."

"Gabriel's a pilot."

"Well, uhm, I used to be," he quickly corrects her. "US Air Force Academy. I graduated several years ago."

"Oh?" I remark. "So what do you do now?"

"He spent three years in the Peace Corps," Aurora says.

"That doesn't answer my question."

Gabriel seems to recognize my tone and straightens his back. He looks me straight in the eye. "Right now I'm between jobs, ma'am. I earn money delivering pizzas."

It's a terrible answer, but his back is so straight I decide to give him a fighting chance. "That's an unfortunate outlet for your talents," I remark. "Isn't it?"

"No, ma'am. It's very fortunate. I mean, it's how I met your daughter. In fact, the only reason I kept the job was so that I could keep delivering her pizza. All dressed extra mushrooms."

"I hope you don't feel you _still _need the excuse?"

"No, ma'am. I do anticipate a change of occupation soon."

The two of them exchange a look that tells me there is more to the story, but before I can grill the young man further Tom initiates his own (more gentle) line of questioning about Gabriel's work in the Peace Corps (which apparently involved giving inoculations to sick Guyanese children) and, more pressingly, the state of the noodles. Aurora tightly clutches his hand through the entire conversation, but she is looking at me. Her eyes beg the question, _so, what do you think of him...?_ or maybe it's _isn't he gorgeous...?_ A mixture of both, probably. I smile ambivalently at her. He _is_ gorgeous. And she seems so happy it is difficult to object much to the pilot-turned-humanitarian-turned-pizza delivery boy.

Once dinner is over I learn that Aurora won't be sleeping in her old room; she is staying in a hotel with Gabriel, but they would like to remain in the area a few days to spend time with us. But by this time it hardly matters to me. The feeling of eminent dread that had driven me to bed early this night has returned. I already know where this is heading, and I am resentful. I was cheated out of five days. I could have visited her on campus. I could have called. It is a colossal injustice played by my subconscious that seems determined to make me miserable.

"I have to talk to you," Aurora says after Tom had taken Gabriel out back to see our wicker patio set. She leads me into the living room and sits us down on the couch. "I have some news."

The expression on my face must betray my feelings, because she takes my hands and apologises. "I didn't tell you about him... well, it all happened so fast. And it's relatively new and it wasn't even serious at first. I thought it was just, you know, a fling with the pizza guy but... then something happened... I don't know how... but I fell in love with him." She can't hide her joy. "I mean, you _do_ like him. Tell me you like him."

"He delivers pizza."

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. He's been offered a position working for the United Nations in their International Development Division. It's not very good pay, but it's what he really wants to do. He'd be organizing foreign aid efforts in refugee camps, that sort of thing. The job is in New York City and he wants me to go. Once I graduate in the spring, that is." She waits for a long time before adding. "He also wants me to marry him. I said yes. To both."

The feeling is like a knife through my heart, an actual physical pain that I hadn't expected. I try to hide it but Aurora is too perceptive. "You don't like him. You're angry I didn't tell you earlier."

"No! No, I'm not mad. It isn't him. Aurora, of course I like him." I take her in my arms and hug her tightly, blinking back tears. "I'm happy for you. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Mom." When she pulls back I see she is crying, too. "Once you get to know him more, you'll like him more. I promise."

"It isn't him. It's just that... goddamnit! I was cheated out of five days." I'm so bitter about the loss that I have to exclaim it aloud. "Five days! Last night you were nineteen. And tonight, this happens. Now I don't think I'll see you again... I think this is how it ends and I hate it."

I am so used to her dismissing my references to my other life as the ravings of a lunatic that I'm shocked when she answers, "Well, if everything you've ever told me is true, and this is all a dream, then you'll see me again. Aren't I a baby?"

"Yes, but it isn't the same. It isn't the same in Zion."

"What? I'm not as cute?"

I laugh through my tears. "No, you're adorable. You're perfect. It's me." Her puzzled expression prompts the explanation, "I'm not the best mom in the world. I'm just... not good at it. You wouldn't understand."

Aurora shakes her head. "Look. I may not know anything about Zion, but I do know _you _pretty well. After all, I've had to put up with you for almost twenty five years. And you could never be a bad mother. I mean, sure, _universes_ change; people don't."

"Universes change; people don't?"

She shrugs. "Makes sense to me. And maybe your not coming here every night is a good thing. If the _real _me needs you."

"Oh, no. Aurora, I could never think of you as less real. You're as real to me as anything is. I can't thank you enough for everything that's happened here... I don't know that I can say goodbye. I'll miss you so much."

"You'll see me again. In twenty five years, right?"

Remarkably, I had never thought of things in this way before. It is a wonderful thought. Everything I'd missed out on hadn't really be lost at all; they are things yet to come. Aurora grew up too fast, but Rorie is still an infant. I am being given a second chance.

"I hope Rorie turns out as wonderful as you," I say. "In spite of me."

"Mom, I'm this way because of you. Just... be yourself."

She leaves it at that. She wants to tell her father about the engagement and call it an early night; the jetlag, apparently, was catching up to her. "If you're not saving the world tomorrow, we could all go out for dinner and a show," she says. "I'd love it if you could visit from time to time."

She is humouring me as one would a mental patient, though her compassion is sincere enough to count for something. Knowing this is goodbye for a very long time, I hold her close and murmur I love yous, and after she leaves there is a profound sense of loss. But I am also eager to wake up. I want to see Rorie; I don't want to miss another moment. It is in these final hours - Zionist dawn, surely - that I feel sorry for Tom, who has no baby to wake up to. Though at times he has been my dream's comic relief, at others he has been a well of unwavering support and good advice.

"I don't know about that guy," he says as we climb into bed. "I mean, sure, Mr. McHandsome Pants can fly a B-52, but he doesn't know jack shit about patio furniture. I don't know what they'll do if they have to decorate a backyard one day. Or worse: a _veranda_."

"It's New York, Tom. Not New Orleans." Still, Tom looks defeated. I know how he feels. "I'm sure Gabriel would appreciate your advice. Though, you'd have to visit often. What, with the quickly changing trends and styles every season..."

"Oh, Jordan, don't you listen to me at all! It's _wicker!_ There are no varying styles in wicker! That's why it's a classic! It always looks the same!"

Tom plunges his face into his hands in despair, prompting me to wrap my arm around him in comfort. "He doesn't know that," I say. "We could lie." When this doesn't seem to work, I try a new approach. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Well, now that you mention it..." His head slides from my shoulder to my breasts. How I could have fallen for this so easily is simply astounding. "I can think of something that might make me feel less lonely."

It is the last night, and I cannot say no to him. More than that, I genuinely feel like rocking his world. Something to remember me by - the _real_ me - IRS D-Base Trinity. But suddenly, that identity doesn't seem to ring as true as it used to. As I pin Tom to the mattress and tell him to shut up, it occurs to me that for the past few weeks, I have been introducing Trinity to this family, but very rarely the other way around. Perhaps the dichotomy of Jordan and Trinity is the essence of the illusion; perhaps my true self lay muddled somewhere in between.

And this, I realize, is one of the most transformative aspects of parenthood. When I wake up the following morning and find Rorie asleep in her crib, I know it instantly. Everyday we reinvent ourselves for our children - if we have the courage to let them teach us as much as we aspire to teach them. In this way, Rorie has already given me much more than she'll ever know.

* * *


End file.
